Research: Romance

urgency

A rapid knocking at my door pulls me out of focus. I glance to the window and find the sky is pitch black, making me sigh. It was Sunday night, and I had been writing in a non-stop fugue state since I got home yesterday after the one-bed trope. My newfound consciousness comes with sharp hunger pangs and a very stiff back. Stretching, I groan loudly, and rest my head weightily on my desk.

The knocking comes again, this time more urgent. So, I closed my laptop and walked to the door, looking through the peep hole to find Desi standing outside my door. The chain was barely off before she was barging in and rushing to my kitchen like a bank robber headed for the vault.

"I promise. I will have chapters and the full report of what happened on your desk first thing tomorrow morning." I grumble, shutting the door. "Just let me have the rest of this night in peace. I beg you!"

"Can you stop talking to yourself for moment!" Desi interrupts, clawing at a bottle of wine she pulled from her bag and was now trying to open.

In the brief time I had been pleading with her she had set out multiple tubs of ice cream, corn chips, a chocolate bar from last Christmas that I'm quite sure was lost in my freezer, and potato salad. She also was pulling out another bottle of wine from her purse and set out the coffee grounds.

"I am about three seconds away from murdering a human being. And if I don't satiate the beast inside, you are the one helping me bury his body." She growls, and resorts to using her teeth like an animal to pull the cork out the rest of the way. I tried to be surprised at this, but I couldn't. I'd seen it many times before.

"Desi, dearest," I started, swaying toward her with a tired smile. "Need I remind you; it is almost eleven p.m. on a Sunday. We have work tomorrow. Also, homicide is not an acceptable, nor legal, way to express your frustration."

She is making coffee now, my kitchen a tornado of grounds and water droplets. "No, you're right. Except this is not frustration." She clicks the machine on before walking back into my pantry and grabbing an ancient bottle of Fireball.

Oh boy.

"Frustration is someone turning in chapters late," She whirls and looks at me furiously, "By the way, where are my chapters?"

I threw my hands up, too exhausted to reiterate what I said. It doesn't matter anyway. She turns back around and is kicking off her shoes, taking the bottle of wine in one hand and the chips in the other as she marches to the couch.

"Frustration is not being able to clasp your bracelet by yourself or missing the bus. Frustration is not sleeping with someone for a while, or seeing someone that makes you realize you want to. Frustration is having someone take the last muffin after waiting in line at the coffee shop for twenty minutes!"

Desi flops onto the couch but is peering at me over the back of it, "This is rage. Leah. Pure, unbridled, rage."

"Uh huh." Seeing that I wasn't getting an early nights rest tonight, I poured myself a cup of coffee, and walked over to her.

Curling up on the couch I pop a chip into my mouth, "And what did he do this time to earn such rage?"

She stops and has the audacity to look surprised. "I didn't say who I was mad at."

I pointed to the bottle in her hand, "That's red wine."

"So?"

I eat another chip, "So, you only drink red wine when you're mad at two people... Yourself and Henry." Taking a sip of my coffee to wash it down, I finish with, "You said the word "his" just now. So, it's not you. Must be Henry."